Dancing Lessons
by Naeth
Summary: Dutchy wants to learn how to dance to impress a potential girl friend. Who's going to teach him? Will it work?
1. Default Chapter

Dancing Lessons

            "'ey, Dutchy!" Racetrack waved a hand in his friend's face. "Anyone in?"

            "Huh?" Dutchy blinked.

            "'Y lookin' t' starve? Y' ain't said nothing for 'bout ten minutes." Racetrack frowned. "Y' feel all right?"

            Dutchy nodded, then sighed.

            "Look, I've sold almost all my papes," Racetrack said, and looking at Dutchy's alarmingly larger stack. "Let's stop for lunch," he suggested.

            Dutchy nodded again.

            "Cat gotcher tongue?"

            "No."

            Racetrack was deep in thought all the way to Tibby's. After they'd ordered, he had it. "So who's the goil?"

            "What makes y' think there is one?" the blond newsie asked, pushing his glasses slightly.

            Racetrack sighed. "What else makes a complete fool of a newsie?"

            "Her name's Helen," Dutchy said at last. "She don't even know I exist."

            "How'dya know that?"

            "We ain't spoke."

            "That'd do it," Racetrack tipped back his chair. "So where'dya see her?" The story came out quickly, Dutchy seemed to be relieved to have someone to tell it to. He'd seen Helen outside one of the factories and sold a pape to a friend of hers. He'd been instantly smitten and knew that no one else could be like her. Even though they hadn't spoken yet. Even though she hadn't even noticed him. There was going to be a dance two weeks from now that most of the girls would be going to, and Helen would be there. It would be an ideal time to meet her, but…

            "I can't dance."

            "'Course you can!" Racetrack insisted. "We dance all t' time."

            "But…" Dutchy gulped. "Not wiv goils…"

            "Dey don't bite. An' what makes you so sure she likes t' dance?"

            "She was dancin' on her break. By herself like, but y'know, waltzing?"

            Racetrack nodded. "So ya gotta learn. Medda'd teach y'."

            "Can't afford it. Say, Race, you know how t' dance, don't you?"

            "Oh no, I'm not teachin' y' dancin'!" Racetrack said. Visions of sore and possibly broken toes sprang to mind.

            "Please, Race?" 

            Unless there was some way… Wait, he had it. "It'll cost y'."

            "How much?" Dutchy asked, reaching for the leather pouch he wore around his neck.

            _He's__ really desperate! "Um…three cents a lesson." _

            "Done."

            Race almost fell off his chair. _Shoulda__ said five!_

            "When do we start?" Dutchy asked.

            "After we finish the evenin' papes?" Racetrack suggested, feeling doomed for some reason.

            "All right."

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	2. Chapter 2

            The appointed time came much too soon for Racetrack, but the prospect of making some money from it did brighten up things to dim instead of dismal. They'd agreed to meet in the lobby of the lodging house, since most of the other newsies would be out selling still or getting dinner.

            "So what's first?" Dutchy asked, eagerly.

            "First rule of dancin'," Race began. "No steppin' on my feet. Hit the floor, don't hit my feet. Got it?"

            Dutchy nodded.

            "Awright, we're gonna learn how t' waltz, 'cause you said that's what Helen does. That's a three step sorta dance. Y' move on each beat, so it's _one, two, three, one, two, three, got it? We're gonna go right, so, we face right. You're gonna lead with your left foot an' I'm gonna lead with my right. We starts out in 4-track. Y' left foot should be outside mine an' yer right between mine, got it?"_

            "Left, inside, right between, got it," Dutchy repeated.

            "That way we won't hit our feet or knees so much. Next thing's t' counterbalance. We gotta keep that all the time, so we can move each other freely, but don't fall into me, and I won't fall into you, got it?"

            Dutchy nodded.

            "Awright, this is an open promenade, I put my left hand on yer shoulder, you put yer right hand behind me and hold my right in yer left," Race explained. After a momentary confusion of right and left, they had it. 

"Ain't so bad," Dutchy smiled.

"Wait until we start movin'," Race muttered. 

About a half hour later, Dutchy had revised his opinion. Waltzing was hard. Race knew he had it easier, because he knew what he was doing and was dancing the girl's part. They hadn't even gotten to turns yet, dancing in a straight line was proving to be quite the challenge, as evidenced by Dutchy who had dropped where he stood when Race suggested a break.

"Awright Dutchy, let's try it again," he said.

The blond gave his fellow newsie a heartbreaking 'just five more minutes' look, but when Race set out to do something, he finished. At least things in his control, such as selling a certain number of papes, and teaching an inept friend how to waltz. Things like making number eight win- or even finish, were beyond that. "C'mon, up y' get," Race said, pulling Dutchy to his feet. The blond muttered something that was either a curse or a threat in German and got up.

"Awright, let's just dance in a straight line until we get t' that wall, then turn and dance back the other way. In a bit we can work on proper turns."

Blink had decided to go the lodging house before going to Tibby's, to rid himself of his extra cash and avoid the temptation of overspending. That done, he was about to leave when he heard voices below… 


End file.
